Rose of England moved away from the jetty, making no sound until she found some wind and the water began to slap against her bows. Guy let out the main sheet and put the helm up. The boom swung out and the boat wallowed round sluggishly to head upstream. He’d been bitterly disappointed when he’d first set eyes on her: a fourteen-foot, clinker-built, gaff-rigged, broad-beamed open fishing boat with a straight stern like a Viking ship; solidly built to withstand wind and weather. She had been sadly neglected and was scarred by hard usage: her varnish rubbed to bare wood in places, her rust-red sails patched. And she sailed like a fishing boat, butting her way through the water. Unlike the smaller Bean Goose she had no centreboard to make her go better against the wind; she was meant for negotiating shallow seas and estuaries with treacherous sandbanks. A plodding workhorse. A joke – as far as Guy was concerned. Even her name sounded ridiculous and old-fashioned. It was the sort of thing you’d call a paddle-steamer or some old river barge. He’d so hoped for something with sleek lines, modern and faster and a whole lot racier, but he knew better than to say so and be reprimanded for looking a gift horse in the mouth. ‘Nice old thing,’ Father had said firmly. ‘Good and solid. Matt’ll have a job tipping her over.’
He and Matt had done a lot of work on her in the Easter holidays, scraping and scrubbing her hull free of weed and sanding off all the old varnish before they revarnished her inside and out. They’d cleared the bow and stern lockers, chucking out an accumulation of empty tobacco tins, broken lamps, glass floats and fouled netting – even the skeletal remains of long-dead fish. They’d sanded and revarnished her long, heavy oars and Guy had repainted the name in white on her bow. He might not be able to take any pride in her lines or her performance but he was blowed if he was going to take out a badly kept boat and add to the humiliation.
The breeze was freshening and their wake lengthened out behind them. He held Rose on a steady course, letting her run before the wind with the boom broad off. He kept a close eye on the burgee fluttering at the masthead, watching for any wind shift that could cause a standing gybe. Anna, sitting with Lizzie on the centre thwart, was hanging out over the port side, trailing one hand in the water. She was wearing a white dress made of thin stuff, like muslin, and a wide-brimmed straw hat tied on with a red ribbon. All right in a punt, he supposed, but it looked ridiculous in a tub like the Rose. When he’d suggested she should go and change into something more practical, like Lizzie’s flannel shorts and aertex shirt, she’d said she hadn’t got anything like that and wouldn’t wear it if she had.
‘Anna, can you sit down properly, please.’
She turned to make a face at him. ‘So strict, Guy! We are not the Royal Navy.’
‘You’re upsetting the balance.’
‘Does it matter so much?’
‘Yes, it does actually.’
She pulled herself back in, but unwillingly. If it had been Lizzie she would have done what he told her instantly. Anna, on the other hand, took very little notice of him at all. He hadn’t seen either of them for more than seven months, not since Christmas. Lizzie had grown a bit taller but she was still just a kid, still in awe of him and easy to boss around. Anna, of course, always immediately did the exact opposite of anything he said. She was even more beautiful – he’d seen that at a glance, though he was very careful not to look at her too often. Over the next couple of days he’d discovered that her English was now pretty fluent. He listened to her chatting away to Matt – she was always talking to him – and there were hardly any mistakes. She spoke with an accent and sometimes said things in a foreign way, but it wasn’t bad.
Rose sailed on steadily up the river, round Black Point and on to Raypits Reach. Guy kept a lookout for a good place for the picnic they’d planned. With the midday sun beating down, they needed to find a spot with some shade and there weren’t many trees around. Matt pointed ahead to a clump at the edge of a field beyond the next bend, which might do if there was somewhere they could land and make the Rose safe.
‘Ready to gybe.’
Lizzie instantly crouched down.
‘Anna, get your head down.’
‘You said before that we are not to move.’
‘Just do as I say, unless you want a crack on the head. Gybe-oh!’ The Rose heeled in stately fashion and Guy and Matt ducked under the boom and changed sides as it swung over. Guy eased the mainsheet as they rounded the bend into the wind. There was a patch of shingle at the foot of the bank by the field and some wooden fencing that looked as though it would serve as a mooring. Approaching the spot, he let go of the sails and drifted gently against the shore, side-on. He’d got it smack on right, which pleased him though it went unnoticed by either of the girls. Matt was over the side in a jiffy, splashing in up to his knees, and grabbing hold of the forestay.
‘OK, you two girls can get out now.’
‘But it is water, Guy.’
‘Of course it’s water, Anna. This is a river. There’s no jetty so you’ll have to damn well get your feet wet.’ Lizzie was already taking off her socks and her brown leather sandals but Anna was making yet another face; he was sick of her faces. He watched her unbuckle her flimsy red shoes and slither reluctantly over the side of the boat. He waited for the moaning when she landed in the mud.
‘Ugh! What is this?’
‘Mud,’ he said, pleased at her discomfort. ‘Don’t you have it in Austria?’ It was beastly, squelchy, slimy stuff and he didn’t much like the feel of it himself. ‘It won’t kill you.’ She waded ashore, her white muslin skirts bunched up high in one hand, the red shoes clutched in the other. He let down the sails and took off the rudder and got out himself, carrying the picnic basket and rug. Then he and Matt hauled the boat up onto the shingle and made the painter fast round the fence with a bowline. Anna and Lizzie were splashing around in the shallows, trying to wash the mud off their feet – Anna still grizzling, of course. They walked across to the clump of trees. It wasn’t as good a spot as he’d thought. The ground had been well trampled by cattle who had also left several cowpats. There were flies buzzing around. Anna held her nose.
‘This is horrible. We cannot stay here.’
He dumped the picnic hamper down. ‘It’s shady.’
‘It is also smelly. And we cannot eat with these flies.’
He knew she was right which didn’t make it any better. He was angry with himself for picking such a rotten place and furious with her for kicking up a fuss. She was a guest, after all, not family. She should jolly well say nothing. That would have been the decent, English sort of thing to do. But, of course, a foreigner wouldn’t have a clue about that. He started to open the hamper, tugging at the leather straps. ‘Well, we’re here now and it’s too late to move. You’ll just have to put up with it.’
She pointed to a single oak tree standing at the very far end of the field. ‘We could go there. It is much nicer.’
‘It’s miles away.’
‘I do not mind. Do you, Lizzie? Do you, Matt? It will be away from the flies and cows’ messes.’
He slammed the hamper lid down. ‘All right, you carry all this if you’re so keen.’
‘Matt will help me.’ She took one handle, Matt the other and walked off barefoot through the grass, her red shoes dangling from her other hand. Guy followed with the rug, fuming, Lizzie anxiously bringing up the rear. Of course, the place Anna had found was much better, which did nothing to improve his temper. He opened up the hamper again while Lizzie spread out the rug. Mrs Woodgate had done her usual stuff: egg and tomato sandwiches with cress, sausage rolls, fruit cake, ginger beer. All pretty good. He handed the Bakelite boxes to Lizzie who set them out on the rug, together with the picnic plates. ‘Dig in everybody.’ He was ravenously hungry and shoved the sausage rolls under Anna’s nose. ‘Come on, then. Take one.’
‘What are these?’
‘You can see what they are. Sausage rolls.’
‘She can’t eat them,’ Lizzie said. ‘Not if the sausages are pork.’
‘Why on earth not?’
Matt took one. ‘Jewish people are forbidden to eat pork. It’s in their religion.’ He chewed away. ‘Not sure what these are made of, I’m afraid, Anna. Better not risk it.’
‘For heaven’s sake … does it really matter?’
‘It does to her, Guy. Have a sandwich instead, Anna.’
‘Perhaps she’s not allowed to eat eggs,’ he said sarcastically. ‘Or tomatoes. Or cress.’ He knew he was behaving badly, but he couldn’t help it. He flung himself down on the grass, at a distance from the rug, out in the sun. Thank God he was Church of England and there was none of that sort of nonsense. He stretched out on his back and chewed on a sausage roll. The others were jabbering away – Lizzie’s voice high and clear as a bell, Matt’s all croaky because it was breaking, Anna’s huskily foreign. They were talking about school food but he only half-listened. He was looking up into the clear blue sky and thinking about flying. One day he’d be up there, soaring about in a machine that would climb like an eagle and dive like one, too: plummet straight down from a great height onto its prey. He’d be eighteen next year and taking his Oxford Entrance. He’d go up the following autumn in 1937 when he was nineteen and join the University Air Squadron straight away. Train on something like a de Havilland Moth, most probably. Bound to be rather boring to start with but, later on, when he’d joined the Royal Air Force, he’d go on to something really wizard. Even better than the Hawker Super Fury. Even faster. Even more powerful. Two-winged like the eagle …
‘Would you like a sandwich, Guy?’ Lizzie was standing above him, thin legs streaked with dried mud. She was holding out an open Bakelite box.
He sat up. ‘Thanks. Sorry, I was being jolly unsociable.’
‘We’ve already started on Mrs Woodgate’s fruit cake, I’m afraid. It’s awfully good. Would you like some?’
‘I’d sooner have a sandwich first.’
‘Shall I get you some ginger beer?’
‘Yes, thanks.’ Funny little Lizzie, he thought; always so anxious to please. If he’d had a sister he’d have liked her to be just like Lizzie. When she brought him the sandwich and the ginger beer, holding the beaker carefully so it didn’t spill, he asked her if she’d been doing any of her painting lately. She shook her head.
‘Not much, actually. We had end-of-term exams, so it’s been a bit busy. Then we came here.’
‘Did you get good marks?’
‘Not specially. Anna did, though. She was top in French and Scripture.’
‘Scripture?’
‘Well, she knows the Old Testament awfully well, you see. Much better than any of us. She was second in Maths, too, and tied third in Geography. They’re going to move her up two forms next term so she’ll be with her own age. Now that she speaks English all right.’
‘When on earth is she going back to Austria?’
‘I don’t know. Her parents came to England to see her a few months ago and she tried awfully hard to get them to take her home with them, but they wouldn’t. She was dreadfully upset.’
He chewed on the sandwich. ‘Well, it seems a lot of fuss over nothing to me.’ He didn’t want to talk any more about Anna. ‘You must do some painting while you’re here, Lizzie.’
‘I did bring my paints,’ she said.
‘There you are, then. Make sure you use them.’
She knelt down on the grass beside him. ‘Anna wanted to know if we could go down the river to the sea. I said I’d ask you.’
‘She can ask me herself.’
‘She doesn’t think you’ll say yes – not if she asks.’
‘That’s rubbish,’ he said, nettled. It made him sound a real ogre. ‘We can’t today, actually, because I promised Mother I’d stay upstream. She worries – ever since, Matt, you know … But, if the weather stays OK, she might say it’s all right to take you.’
‘Anna wants to see the North Sea again, that’s the thing.’
‘What for? It can get jolly rough out there.’
‘She came over that way. From the Continent.’
‘Yes, she would have done. But it’s tricky sailing with all the sandbanks and the tides and everything. It’s OK with me and Matt, but I wouldn’t want to risk getting into any difficulties with you girls. I don’t think you’d like it much, Lizzie. You’d get scared.’
‘Not with you.’
He was rather chuffed by the solemn way she said that: as though he were infallible. Not true, of course, but he still liked to hear it. He smiled at her. ‘Well we could probably go a little way out and she could take a look. I’ll ask Mother.’ There was a loud peal of laughter from Anna who was talking to Matt. He added sourly, ‘But I doubt she’ll enjoy it.’
Matt was hunting for a knife. ‘Have some more cake Anna.’ She couldn’t eat the sausage rolls and he could tell she hadn’t much liked the egg and tomato sandwiches which had gone all soggy, but she’d had two bits of cake.
‘Thank you.’ She watched him cutting. ‘You are very clever with your hand, Matt. You manage so well with just the thumb and finger.’
He went red; he’d meant to use his good left hand and forgotten. ‘Lots of practice, I suppose.’
‘You do not mind my saying this?’
‘No, of course not.’
‘You are just as quick as anybody. And so quick in the boat, with ropes and things.’
‘Not quick enough sometimes.’
‘Ah, when you turned over … what was the word?’
‘Capsized.’
‘Yes, capsized. Was it frightening?’
‘It was rather.’
‘I should have been very frightened. And the sea so cold. And uneven.’
‘Rough,’ he corrected. ‘We say rough.’
‘I must remember – rough. When I came to England on the boat it was rough, even in summer, and I was very sick. I felt so ill. Very, very ill. I wanted to die.’
‘The North Sea’s often like that, I’m afraid. And it’s always cold.’ He suppressed a shudder.
‘But still I would like to go to see it again,’ Anna said. ‘I should feel closer to my home. Can you understand?’
‘Yes, I can. I expect I’d feel the same if I was on the other side of it.’
‘I knew that you would. Oh, no! There is an insect on this cake, Matt.’
‘It’s only an ant.’ He flicked it away for her.
‘Better than a fly.’ She said it loud enough for Guy to hear, and laughed. ‘Do you know, Matt, I have never had a picnic before.’
‘Never?’ He was astonished.
‘Never.’ She wriggled her bare toes. ‘I think it is a very English sort of thing. To sit on the earth outside and eat food with insects on it.’
He grinned. ‘I suppose it is. A bit mad.’
‘When I first came to this country, I thought all the English were mad. Now I know that is not true. Only some of them. You are a very nice people. Very kind. But I still miss my home and my own country.’
‘It must be awful, having to be away so long. Won’t your parents let you go back soon?’
‘They say not yet. Always, it is not yet. They are still afraid.’
It seemed extraordinary to him. He couldn’t imagine having to stay away from England. ‘What’s Vienna like?’
She sighed. ‘How to tell you, Matt … Vienna is a most romantic city. We have the most beautiful old buildings – some of them very grand like the Hofburg, the Staatsoper, the Kunsthistoriscbes Museum and, of course, the Stephansdom – that is the great cathedral in the very middle. And there are beautiful parks where you can walk, and long streets with many wonderful shops, and cafés where you can sit and listen to an orchestra playing the music of Vienna while you eat chocolate sachertorte. Everywhere there is music. Great music. Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven, Schubert all lived there. So did Brahms and Bruckner and Mahler and the Strausses. It is a magic city—’
Guy had got to his feet. ‘Well, let’s get on, if you two have quite finished yacking.’
Anna saluted him. ‘Yes, Captain.’
‘It’s aye, aye, actually, Anna, if you want to get it right.’
‘Eye? Why eye?’
‘Not eye – aye. A-Y-E. It means yes.’
‘And you say it twice? Yes, yes.’
‘Oh, forget it.’
She was mocking Guy, of course, and he knew it. Matt saw him practically grinding his teeth. They packed up the picnic things and Matt and Guy carried the basket back across the field, the girls trailing along behind.
‘She gives me the pip, that girl. Miss Clever Clogs.’
‘Well, actually she is rather clever. Lizzie told me. She says she’s brilliant at school now.’
Guy stopped and glowered at him. ‘Whose side are you on, anyway, Matt?’
‘I’m not on anyone’s.’
‘I thought you didn’t like her either.’
‘I didn’t much at first, but now I like her rather a lot.’
Guy strode on. ‘Well, as far as I’m concerned the sooner she goes back to Vienna the better.’
‘She can’t, Guy. That’s what’s so awful for her. Her parents won’t let her because they’re still afraid. They must really have it in for the Jews over there.’
‘I expect it’s their own fault. They probably get everyone’s goat, like she does.’
They’d reached the spot where the Rose waited. The falling tide had left her several yards from the water. ‘Untie her, Matt. The girls can jolly well help shove.’ It took all four of them to get the heavy boat back into the river, stern first. Anna, of course, couldn’t push and hold her skirts up at the same time. She stood knee-deep in the water with white muslin floating round her.
‘I am soaking now, Guy.’
‘You’ll dry off soon enough. Next time wear something more sensible, like Lizzie.’
‘I have not smalls.’
‘Shorts you mean.’
‘Ja, shorts.’
‘Then you’d better get some. You can’t wear that frock again.’ Guy swung himself on board. Matt held onto the forestay keeping Rose to wind while Guy put the rudder back and then hauled away on the halyard. The red sail rode up the mast and when it was at the top he made the halyard fast on the cleats under the thwart. ‘Come on, you two, get on, unless you want to be left behind.’
‘Our feet are full of mud. It is horrible. It smells.’
‘Just shut up and get on board, Anna, will you. Or I will leave you behind. OK, Matt, push her off.’
Matt shoved hard on the bows and scrambled aboard. They sailed back downstream, against the wind, short-tacking from one bank to the other. Anna ostentatiously wrung her skirts out over the side and Guy, just as pointedly, ignored her.
Liebe Mina,
I am writing this at the cousins’ home by the sea. You remember my telling you about Guy (the one who is so pleased with himself) and Matt, the younger one? I am sitting in a deck-chair on the terrace at the back of the house in the sun, which is shining for once. Lizzie has gone to do some painting by the river – she’s very good at painting, by the way, though she doesn’t believe it when you tell her so. The cousins are practising playing the English game, cricket, on the grass. It is a very dull game indeed. Somebody throws a ball at you and you hit it with a wooden bat and then run backwards and forwards. That’s all that seems to happen. Guy is meant to be wonderful at it and he has just hit the ball so hard it has gone into the middle of some bushes so poor Matt has had to go off and find it. The dog has gone to help him, too. Did I tell you about the black dog? He has a strange name, Nereus. Matt told me that it’s the Greek name for some wise old man of the sea. The father is a sailor in the Navy and he chose it.
Yesterday we went out in their boat – the cousins and Lizzie and me. It is a funny old thing meant for catching fish and not at all beautiful, but it feels very safe. I think Guy is ashamed of it because he would like to sail something much smarter and better. He is like that. The weather was very hot and it would have been fun except for Guy ordering everybody about. We took a picnic with us (the English love picnics) and ate it in a field by the river. Matt asked me about Vienna but it was so difficult to describe it to him and it made me sad even to speak of it. How I miss home, Mina! I try so hard to be happy here but whenever I start to think of Vienna I am just as homesick as ever. The cousins’ mother has said we can take the boat down the river as far as the sea tomorrow, so long as the weather stays good. It’s the North Sea and it will make me feel closer to you all just to look at it. If only I knew how to sail a boat I think I should just steal the cousins’ one and sail across and find my way home, whatever Mama and Papa said.
Matt is hitting the ball now. He has a crippled right arm which means he can’t do as well as Guy, which is bad luck for him. I like him much better, though. You would like him, too. He is gentle and kind and he has the nicest eyes and smile.
Will you go and see Grandmama for me? She writes to me and says that everything is well with her but I should like to be sure of it. Would you go and see for yourself?
Matt has just hit the ball into the bushes so that Guy has to go and hunt for it now. I clapped very loudly. I hope it takes him a long time to find it.
I will write again next week when we are back in London.
The fear had come back. He’d been quite all right up until the moment when they’d reached the point where the estuary merged with the sea. The wind had suddenly freshened and the wavelet crests began breaking into glassy foam, and Rose had started to pitch and roll. The fear began with small shivers inside him and then welled up into a blind panic that made him physically shake all over so that he could hardly hold onto the jib sheet. Matt fought it down. There was nothing to be afraid of. No gremlins of the deep waiting. Nothing evil. Treat the sea with respect, Father always said, and she’ll respect you. He’d nearly drowned with Bean Goose because he’d been stupid, not for any other reason. It had all been his fault. After a bit the shaking stopped and he felt better. Nobody seemed to have noticed. Guy was too busy helming and poor Lizzie was feeling very sick and had her head stuck over the side. Anna, sitting athwart, had her eyes fixed straight ahead. She had borrowed an old pair of Guy’s navy rugger shorts and a green and navy striped rugger jersey. They were too big for her but Matt thought they suited her terrifically well.
They were sailing with the tide and the Rose had charged downstream as though she wanted to get to the open sea as fast as she could. Matt fancied that she was remembering her fishing days and a greater freedom than the river. He could almost believe that ships had souls, which was why he hated to think of poor Bean Goose.
They were nearing the end of a starboard tack. ‘Ready about.’ Guy yelled it loud and clear. ‘Anna, get your head down.’ She was still gazing ahead and didn’t seem to have heard so Matt reached out and grabbed her. ‘Lee-oh.’ The boom and the red sail swung over and filled again on the other side. The Rose heeled and wallowed to port as she changed tack and spray flew up. Lizzie, crouched miserably over the gunwale, got drenched. Anna, ignoring the spray, pointed to a group of seals lying on a mud-bank.
‘Seehund! What are they in English?’
‘Seals,’ Matt told her.
‘I have never seen these except in a zoo.’ She turned to watch them flopping about. ‘They are so funny.’
They sailed down the Whitaker channel between Buxey Sand and Foulness Sand. The wavelets grew bigger and sprouted white horses. The Rose was pitching and rolling much more strongly now, water sloshing over her bows, the spray slapping them in the face. Lizzie was clinging to the gunwale for dear life.
‘I’ll take her round the Whitaker buoy,’ Guy shouted. ‘Then we’ll head back.’
Anna looked at him over her shoulder. ‘Oh, please, can we go further?’
‘No, we can’t.’
‘Please, Guy.’
‘Lizzie’s seasick, in case you hadn’t noticed.’
‘Oh … poor Lizzie. I did not see. I am sorry.’
Anna was neither seasick nor afraid. She went on gazing longingly out to sea and kept looking back as they rounded the beacon and sailed back towards the mouth of the river. Now they were against the tide and Rose had to battle her way upstream. It was nearly low water and the flats on each side were uncovered, curlews walking about and plunging their curved bills deep into the wet mud. The water surface was calmer and Lizzie had stopped hanging over the side and sat chalk-faced. Matt tried to jolly her up. ‘Look, Lizzie, there’s another heron.’ She turned to watch it flap downstream and managed a smile. Anna hadn’t seemed to notice the bird. She hadn’t said a word for ages and was staring out over the mud-flats. ‘Did you see the heron, Anna?’
She turned her head. ‘What, Matt?’
‘The heron? That big bird that just flew over. Didn’t you see it?’
‘No, I did not see it.’
She looked awfully sad and he tried to jolly her up too. ‘They’ve got long legs and beaks so they can stand in the water and catch fish. You probably have them in Austria.’
‘Ja … perhaps.’
‘Those black and white birds over there with orange beaks are oyster-catchers.’
‘Ach so …’
‘And the little ones running about are called stints.’
‘You’re supposed to be keeping a watch out, Matt,’ Guy said sharply. ‘I don’t want us going aground.’
With the water so murky it was hard to gauge the depth at all. Sometimes, if it turned a lighter colour, there was a bit of warning, but mostly it was impossible to tell until it was too late. They were on port tack, rounding a bend, when the Rose lurched to a halt. Anna turned her head. ‘Why have we stopped, Guy?’
‘Because we’re on a mud-bank, that’s why. Matt, I said to keep a lookout.’
‘It is not Matt’s fault. You cannot see anything under the water. How could he tell? You look so cross, Guy. What does it matter?’
‘It matters because we could be stuck here for ages.’
She started to laugh. ‘We look so funny, sitting here in the middle of the river, not moving at all.’
‘There’s nothing funny about it. Unless you find the prospect of sitting here for hours until the tide comes in amusing.’
‘I don’t mind. Lizzie doesn’t mind, either, do you? She’s not feeling sick any more.’ Lizzie was giggling and then stopped when she saw Guy’s face.
Another sailing-boat came fast up the river with two aboard and Matt recognized the Chilver brothers, Tom and Harry, who lived upstream from Tideways. They were in their brand-new Grey Heron – a sleek twenty-foot thoroughbred from Pettigrews that Matt knew Guy would have given his eye-teeth for. The elder one, Tom, cupped a hand round his mouth and shouted across. ‘I say, awfully bad luck, Guy! Anything we can do?’
Guy flushed and yelled back. ‘No, thanks, Tom. We’re fine. We’ll be off in a jiffy.’
‘They are laughing,’ Anna said. ‘They think it is funny too.’ She waved at the brothers who waved back, grinning.
Guy looked even crosser. ‘If you don’t mind being some help for a change, Anna, you and Lizzie can come back aft, out of our way, and keep your heads down. We’ll try and push her off at the bow with the oars, Matt.’ The patched red sail flapped loosely and the boom swung free as they wielded the heavy oars like punt poles against the mud. The wind had blown Rose side-on to the bank and she was clinging to it affectionately. The wet oar kept slipping in Matt’s grasp. He couldn’t get a good grip on it with his wonky hand to put enough pressure on the shove.
‘Come on, Matt. Harder!’
‘He is trying his hardest, Guy. You are very unkind.’
‘Shut up, Anna.’
‘I can help Matt.’
‘You’re to stay where you are,’ Guy yelled at her. ‘You’ll only get in the way. And keep your head down unless you want the boom to catch it. OK, Matt, let’s try again.’
‘I think she’s moving,’ Lizzie said. ‘Yes, she is.’
Rose’s bows swung slowly out into the river and Matt scrambled down to the stern to push off there with his oar while Guy took the helm.
‘We were not there for long,’ Anna remarked. ‘You need not have worried so much, Guy.’
Further upstream they overtook Grey Heron aground on another mud-bank. Guy cupped his hand.
‘Bad luck, Tom! Need any help?’
‘We’re perfectly all right, thanks.’
Anna waved at them graciously as the Rose ploughed by. ‘They are not laughing this time,’ she said.
‘I have come to say goodbye, Guy.’
He put down the balsa-wood wing that he was sanding. ‘Didn’t realize you were off already.’
‘Oh yes, your mother is taking us to the station very soon to catch the train to London. Lizzie is just finishing her packing.’ Anna nodded at the table. ‘What is it that you are making?’
‘A plane.’
‘I can see that it is a plane. I meant what kind?’
‘You wouldn’t know it.’
She looked round the room and up at the ceiling. ‘So many aeroplanes. You must like them very much.’
‘I do, as a matter of fact.’
‘Matt says you want to be a pilot one day. To join – what is it called – the air army?’
‘The Royal Air Force. Possibly.’
‘At least there are no mud-banks in the sky.’
He picked up the wing and started sanding again. ‘We got off all right, anyway.’
‘I meant to joke, Guy. I know that you are a very good sailor. And I am sure you will be a very good pilot.’ She watched him working for a moment. ‘Why do you want so much to be one?’
He frowned. ‘No idea, really. I had an uncle who flew with the Royal Flying Corps in the Great War but I never met him. He was killed before I was born. Some of these models are ones he made. He left them to Father and Father gave them to me. I suppose it started then.’
‘How sad that he was killed.’
He blew on the wing. ‘He was shot down by von Richthofen.’
‘Who?’
‘The German ace. Haven’t you heard of him?’
‘I do not think so.’
‘Surely you’ve heard of him? He was on your side?’
‘My side?’
‘Well Austria fought with Germany against us, didn’t they?’
‘I was not alive. It is not my fault.’
‘I didn’t say it was. Von Richthofen was one of their highest-scoring pilots. He had eighty kills. That’s a model of his plane up above your head. The red one with three wings.’
‘Such a funny-looking thing.’
‘The men he shot down didn’t think so.’
‘Why could they not shoot him?’
‘One did, in the end.’
‘So he was not lucky any more.’ She stopped looking at the triplane. ‘I came to thank you, too, as well as to say goodbye.’
He glanced up suspiciously but she looked quite serious. ‘What for?’
‘For taking me to the North Sea.’
‘Oh. That’s OK.’
‘I wanted very much to go.’
‘Yes, Lizzie told me. You could have asked me yourself.’
‘I was afraid.’
‘Afraid? You?’
‘I was afraid that you would say no. You like Lizzie, but you do not like me.’
‘I’d’ve said the feeling was pretty mutual, wouldn’t you? Anyway, I wouldn’t have done. I’m not that mean, whatever you think.’ He carried on sanding busily, smoothing the wood. She’d spent the whole visit putting his back up and now she expected him to be all sweetness and light.
‘So … I wish you a good term at school. You will be the schulsprecher, Matt says. The chief boy.’
‘Head boy.’
‘I can imagine you as that. Giving the orders.’
He ignored her, blowing hard, and went on sanding. When he looked up again, she had gone.